The Thinning Games: 25
by Briardust
Summary: For the first Quarter Quell, the beloved Thinning Games will host a new challenge... and a revolutionary new arena.
1. Prologue

Amberstar smirked as the broadcast began, but quickly replaced it with a smile.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen!" The pale cream tabby yowled. "Welcome to the 25th Thinning Games!" The small, but live, audience screeched and cheered. Amberstar smiled even wider.

"Today, we will be picking the special twist added on every 25 games, for some zest!" A roar of cheers. The crowd had become so into the Games that this new development, told only three years ago, had been totally accepted. All according to plan.

A spotted tabby walked onstage, head bowed, and presented Amberstar with a single seashell. Amberstar touched it with her nose, and tensed as though she had been given an electric shock. Opening her eyes and raising her head, she announced,

"For the 25th Thinning Games, the gender roles will be switched. ShadowClan and ThunderClan will be submitting three she-cats and two toms, and RiverClan and WindClan will be submitting three toms and two she-cats, instead of the other way around."

Silence.

A beat.

And dozens of cats blinked awake to scream.


	2. Chapter 1: The Reaping

ShadowClan

Fernstar, age graying his brown muzzle, leaped up onto a large boulder. Calling the Clan over, he told the tale as old as time… the signs from StarClan. The reaping. The new apprentices quivered with excitement. Their first reaping!

Brownpaw shivered. This was the moment he had waited his whole life for! He was born the day after the victory of the most recent victor and mentor, Blackclaw, from ShadowClan! His uncle! It was so exciting. His black fur ruffled in the breeze as his green eyes looked up. Their medicine cat, Mouselily, almost as old as Fernstar, pushed forward the signs. The ShadowClan camp was sloped, and Brownpaw was in the back, but the slope gave him an exciting view of the signs. His tail puffed as he saw the first item, a half of a huckleberry.

"Cloverfoot!" A gasp came from the crowd. The white and gray spotted she-cat, fluffy fur groomed to perfection, stepped forward. The light from the ivy shone on her pelt, rippling as she made her way through the parting crowd. She bowed her head and took her place to the left of Mouselily.

A robin's foot.

"Icelily!"

Brownpaw wrinkled his pink nose. The gray tabby she-cat slunk forward, and he felt a slight tinge of relief. Maybe she was disliked, but she could fight well.

A pure-white pebble.

"Frostbird!"

Brownpaw's blood ran ice-cold. No, no, no.

No.

His best friend rose, shakily, to sit next to her sister. Paleface, her mother, yowled as she realized that not only Icelily, but Frostbird, would be entering the arena. She was going to lose someone.

But Brownpaw was staring at Frostbird in a panic, shaking. What could he do? Who should he ask for help? No one, he realized. No one could save her. Only Frostbird.

He lurched forwards and backwards until he saw something. The entire time, Frostbird's blue eyes had only looked at him. He remained eye contact.

He barely heard as Whiteshadow and Shrewtwist were called. Wait. Shrewtwist?

He finally broke Frostbird's gaze. His mentor padded up to the front, following his clanmate. His long, jagged, pink scar stretched and twisted along his back, neck, and right foreleg. Brownpaw had always wondered where it had come from, and how he had escaped…

And it looked like he was about to find out.

RiverClan

Pebblestar stretched in the morning light, looking down on her Clanmates. This was the day. She stared at Graystorm, Dewtree, and Rocknose. The insufferable three. She glared at Toadsnarl. Their father. She was their mother, though they'd never know it. Once, she had been in love with the irritating hag. For some reason. As soon as she bore his kits, however, she knew she had made a mistake. She was supposed to carry on the victor's lineage. She was almost a deputy them. Her mother, Foxstream, had waited a long time before having her. She was a victor, as well as her father, Fireslash. But she had made one silly mistake.

All it took was a little bribery. Toadsnarl wanted them, but not her. He wanted Marigoldwhisker. And she wanted him. When she had first come to them, two moons before, she had been Betsy. It was believable that, since Toadsnarl had found her, they would be together. Pebblestar had 'given birth to three dead kittens' a week later, with an unknown father. A harsh glance had shut up the speculation and the mistrust that came with illegitimate kits.

Now, the one thing she wanted most was to watch them all die.

Her medicine cat, Whitetooth, stepped forward. His black pelt rustled as he pushed a single marigold leaf with a tiny drop of dew in front of him.

"Dewtree!"

Pebblestar almost laughed. But betraying herself with a purr was intolerable. She merely bowed her head as the blue, sleek she-cat proudly stepped forward. When she looked up, she met Marigoldwhisker's, and then Toadsnarl's, eye. They looked at her mournfully.

"Brightmoon!"

Pebblestar's stomach lurched. Of all the rotten luck. Her former apprentice stepped up. The calico pushed her way through the crowd, and it was obvious to Pebblestar that she was ready to blow. However, her calm and undemanding demeanor shook off any concerns of the cats she passed.

She would have been the ideal daughter.

"Brambleslash!"

The red tabby, amber eyes gleaming, launched himself up. Muscles rippling, he dove straight to the right of Whitetooth. Pity he'd have to go. If she had died, Pebblestar would have wanted her deputy, Palelight, to appoint him the new one.

"Brackenleap!"

Silverripple screeched, stomach swollen with kits. She had won only two games ago. Just when she had settled down… well, Toadsnarl could help her. He so obviously loved kits.

"Graystorm!"  
Pebblestar bit down on her tongue to keep from screeching in joy. Looking back towards her traitorous mate and his pathetic new one, she saw anger flash in their eyes. It was almost as if she had planned it. She wished she had.

As she padded away, she thought of her great-grandmother. A bit soft, but a trendsetter. Fireslash's mother was formidable, but after her games, she almost… broke. Disgusting.

 _Don't worry, Palestrike._ Pebblestar thought. _I swear my tributes will make you proud._

WindClan

Russetstar shook his red pelt out in the rain, irked. Why did StarClan have to send the rain TODAY?! he thought angrily.

Silverfur called for attention. WindClan was a place for business and security. No time for rain checks.

She pushed he paw outwards to reveal a mouse's bloody, bitten-off nose. Disgusting. However, even more disgusting was the knowledge of who would die.

"Sandclaw!" She said.

The yellow she-cat padded up to the front of the camp, tail barely above the ground. The rain pounded down as she flattened her ears.

"Leafcloud!" The patched white-and-brown she-cat sniffed in disgust as she walked over to the front, clearly not amused.

"Sunfern!" The yellow tom hesitated, as if unsure, but some cat nudged him from the crowd, sending Sunfern stumbling forward. His ear twitched, but otherwise he showed no emotion. Instead he walked, almost shaking, almost confident, up to the front.

"Browntail!" The brown tom stalked forward, almost angrily, before looking at his best friend, Sagehoney, one last time.

"Firesky!"

It was impossible to tell, really, in that millisecond of space. But Silverfur would have sworn to StarClan that at that moment, something flashed in Sunfern's eyes that she had never seen before. She had thought, when he was young, that maybe he should follow the route of the medicine cat. But he had insisted on learning. She had never quite understood, but she had a weird vibe from him. Comforting, and yet almost… coying? deceiving? In that infemestial space of time that stretched from now to eternity and backwards, Silverfur saw what made him a warrior. What made him something more.

In his eyes flashed the look of a killer.

ThunderClan

Sharpstar paced, agitated as he waited for Meadownose to tell him to go onto Highrock. His son, Toadbelly, looked lazily over at him. Toadbelly had won his games three years prior, and it was not because he had hidden. Now, however, he was.

"You should really go back into the crowd. Before they know you're missing." Sharpstar said curtly. He didn't want to look at his son. He loved him. He had succeeded. And still, rumors flew about his son's parentage. Lilydew wasn't pregnant enough, they had said. Someone said they had found the stench of dead kits far away into the woods… but Sharpstar knew this was all a lie. Toadbelly was his. His and Lilydew's. Any scent they had smelled was the stench of her death. Only Toadbelly had survived. Two more had been born, dead, but they were buried with his mate. Not alone in the woods, forgotten.

Sharpstar loved to keep his family close, but he always kept his enemies closer. Blacklily, his female deputy and mother to Toadbelly's kits, was the offspring of the worm who had dared question his son. She had raised him, but taught her kids not to trust him. Blacklily claimed she was different. Sharpstar wasn't sure. Their litter, two warriors, were elite. Supreme. The best warriors in the Clan…

Meadownose whispered "it's time!" to Sharpstar, who immediately consented to exit his den. Toadbelly slipped into the crowd, right next to Blacklily.

Sharpstar leaped onto the Highrock and looked down on his Clan. Meadownose, sat next to him, read the first name.

"Cloudlily."

Sharpstar purred. One of his former apprentices, a white shorthair with blue eyes, stepped forward. She would fare well.

"Daisyseed." His granddaughter, a light brown tabby, neatly stepped forward.

"Darkdove."

A hiss of pleasure escaped Sharpstar. His best pupil (and, coincidentally, his favorite), would do even better than Cloudlily. She was fast, elegant, and tireless.

"Dustclaw!"

Another former apprentice? These games would be lively. Sharpstar eyed Dustclaw quickly. Unremarkable, but not untalented.

"Duskfang."

A murmur swept through the crowd. Duskfang was a Clan favorite- a strong hunter who would always bring enough during winter. He nodded to his friend, Darkdove.

Oh, this would be exciting.


	3. Chapter 2: Remodeled

"Ouch!" Cloverfoot hissed in annoyance as she tripped on yet another rock. The ShadowClan warrior was sick and tired of her aching paws from the array of tunnels inside the mountain that was their prison. Her white feet were dusted with gray that, no matter how hard she tried, would not come off. Her nose was scratched from falling, and her tail swept the floor behind her as she stalked away.

Her mentor and her clanmates, Icelily and Frostbird, glared at her. They were almost to the remake center, and she was in the lead. Two at a time, they walked, Blackclaw's spiky dark fur brushing against Cloverfoot's pelt.

Suddenly, they rounded a corner to their left, and the cavern opened up around them. The holes in the ceiling allowed for strong rays of sunshine to burst through, sending the visions of dust molecules dancing in front of Cloverfoot's eyes. She batted at them, amazed, before realizing that the other two tributes were staring at her. Icelily's green, mistrustful eyes stalked her movements, sleek pelt rippling in annoyance. Frostbird stuck by her sister- how horrid would that be, Cloverfoot thought-, beautiful tortoiseshell pelt gleaming against her green eyes. They obviously mistrusted her. And they did not look like very inciting allies to make.

Cloverfoot was pushed back into the real world- actually pushed- and into a subcave to her left by a tremendous shove. She stared in awe at the beautiful purple, blue, and yellow crystals hanging from the ceiling and growing out of the rounded walls. Then she looked down at her prep team.

Three tortoiseshell toms were ready and waiting for her with amber eyes. Odd, she thought, because tortie toms were rare- and infertile. Cloverfoot vaguely remembered that one of the tributes- yes, Firesky, from WindClan- was an infertile tortie.

The toms silently went to work on her, preening her gently, rubbing scented herbs on her and bathing her in a small pool that shone in the reflected light of the rocks. The pool was warm and had lavender, sage, and jasmine floating around. Then she was taken to a cold one filled with slippery rocks at the bottom that she had to run on- something about her paw pads- and then back into another warm pool, this time with freesia and primrose.

Finally, she was free. Giving a complimentary nod to her sweet prep team, Cloverfoot walked out to meet the others. To her surprise, however, Blackclaw came in and ushered her to another sub cave in the back of the room before rushing off.

Inside, the walls were lined with moss. There was a tunnel leading to the right for what looked like a long while, with the same sense of fresh air as the one behind her. Moss nests sat around almost lazily, but when Cloverfoot scrunched up her green eyes, she saw they made a complete circle. She melted into the shadows, thankful for her silver patches, when she saw a shape emerging from the tunnel. Quickly, she ran and stood in the middle of the room again to await her stylist.

It was a red tabby tom with yellow eyes and a notched ear. There was a twinkle about him, and Cloverfoot gasped as she realized it was stars. He was a StarCLan cat. She bowed in gratitude but, with a flick of his tail, he motioned for her to stand. She did.

"Hello, Cloverfoot. My name is Ashsun." He said with a pleasant but slightly rough voice, almost a purr. He circled Cloverfoot, and she decided she liked him. He was nice, so it seemed, and prodded her with his paw gently everywhere he examined. For some reason, she felt comfortable around him. Like she had grown up with him.

He sat across from her, and she sat as well, cold seeping in from the ground through her warm bath and the licks of her prep.

"This year," Ashsun started, "your Clan will be represented with ash." She wrinkled her nose, and, almost like he could read her thoughts, he laughed.

"No, not just because my name is Ashsun. Let me explain.

"ShadowClan is of the… well… shadows. We- yes, we- float above the rest in the perpetual wind that ruffles our fur and gives us life. The scent of prey. The scent of danger.

"Ever since I… well… ever since I died, I've been just absolutely fascinated with the smell of fire. Smoke. Ash. I believe it rides the wind that fills our lungs. You see, if there's any Clan that is more connected to the dark, burning force of nature, it's ShadowClan.

"So, I thought we could build on that. Each one of you, even the toms, will have unique marking in ash, and a burnt flower behind your ear. Behind right for she-cats, behind left for toms." Ashsun finished. "Any questions?"

"No." Cloverfoot said.

And so, for the next few hours, ash and ash-water were carefully applied to her fur, never crusty, just a part of her. Berry juice was added to make it seem almost on fire- or like she was wounded, but carrying on. When Cloverfoot looked into the cold pool from the first side chamber, she saw someone alive. A living, breathing flame.

She was no longer Cloverfoot, the sweet but hard-core soul from ShadowClan.

She was a shadow from the ashes. A whisper from the fire. The last thing you saw before you died.

She was Cloverfoot 2.0: Remodeled.


End file.
